Page 7

Do not trust anything in the Hollow, least of all the trees.

In my haste to flee the Hollow, I’d left my net.

Folding it, I placed it in my satchel. I followed the trail of blood, tracking the man like he was a wild boar I’d shot for supper.

I wound through the Hollow, and it wasn’t long before I came to the sprawling wildflower meadow I’d discovered yesterday.

I brushed a birch trunk, just below a dried, bloody handprint.

Hiking up my cloak, I stalked into the meadow, bending the tall grass and wildflowers.

Finding a blood trail would be impossible here, but I aimed for the spot where I’d seen the Hound resting yesterday, hoping he’d retreated that way.

Parting the last swell of grass, I paused before entering the pines.

Tall and grey, they were a solemn portal.

Sunlight failed to penetrate the thick boughs, which grew so close, it was difficult to peer through them.

A creature might be only a few paces away, and you wouldn’t know it.

Pulling my hood over my head, I raised my crossbow.

Darkness enveloped me as I pushed through the needled branches.

My breath clouded in a plume of white mist, and I tightened the cloak at my throat.

Even if the blood trail continued here, I couldn’t make it out in the dark. Lowering my crossbow, I glanced back.

I should turn around.

At the cottage, my mother and Lottie would have found me gone. Mother would be worried, and Lottie, most likely already throwing things. As I started to turn, a lump caught my eye. I shoved a branch aside, trying to see better. Was it a boulder? The lump, which was roughly the size of a man…moved.

Glancing around, I approached with caution.

Soon, I made out details: dirty hair and skin.

I knelt and rolled the lump over. The man groaned.

“Leave me.” Bits of twigs and leaves fell from his pallid cheeks.

Chunks of congealed blood surrounded the bolt I’d put in his side.

Looking at the wound, I felt criminal. Shame and a desire to fix my wrongdoing guided my hands as they wrapped around the man.

“We must go.”

Carefully, I pulled the man, so he was seated. I helped him stand and wrapped his arm around my neck. “Let’s get you somewhere safe—”

A wolf sat on the path.

Not just any wolf, a thin wolf.

I’d never seen one, but Father had told me stories.

When seated, thin wolves were tall and narrow.

If they held perfectly still, you might mistake them for a tree trunk.

Even seeing it now, I couldn’t believe it.

The wolf was so slender, its entire body no wider than it’s pointed snout.

I craned to meet the impossibly tall creature’s eyes. Dragging the man, I stepped back.

The wolf’s snout curled into a snarl, which looked remarkably like a grin.

The wolf stalked forward. Movement beside us sent my pulse racing.

The tree nearest me spun, revealing another lanky wolf.

It’s pointed snout parted in a hungry snarl as it, too, prowled toward us.

I continued shuffling away. A branch snapped beneath my boot.

The nearest wolf lunged. I blocked with the crossbow.

“Agh!” Jaws clamped down on the bow and tore it away. I retreated, faster. All around, the trees shifted and revealed gangly, ravenous wolves. In seconds, an entire pack surrounded us.

But they didn’t attack.

Why?

I stepped sideways; a wolf snapped, and I dodged. I felt like one of the goats on Ruven’s farm. The wolves behaved just like the family shepherd, snapping and barking at any animal that didn’t go where it belonged. I tried moving right. Again, a wolf lunged at me.

Indeed, they were herding me.

But herding me where?

A chill prickled my spine, and I risked a glance over my shoulder.

We’d backed into a sort of semi-transparent wall, as if the air itself were covered with frost. Bright light shone through the frosted veil, but dread overwhelmed me at the thought of crossing.

One-by-one, the wolves bayed. It was a hunting cry, one I’d often heard from the safety of my bedroom, a hungry chorus that accompanied the shrieks of an animal being torn apart.

The sinewy wolves inched closer, snarling and snapping.

One managed to catch my sleeve; it swung its head, and my arm flailed helplessly.

The wolf let go, and, pulling the man with me, I careened back.

Together, we fell.

As easily as one might fall through the ice coating a frozen lake, we passed through the mysterious veil. My free arm cartwheeled, and we collided against a cobbled path. Sunlight blinded me. I covered my eyes and scrambled up.

“What?” I muttered and squinted from behind my hand.

On this side of the veil, we were not met with trees and darkness.

Before us lay a sprawling garden, filled with unkempt hedges and overgrown roses.

Farther, between the tangles and brambles, jutted a vast, ruinous castle.

Tall, black windows dotted the grey stonework, like a great many eyes boring upon us.

Imposing spires cast the ground in shadows, darkening the area in great strips, looking remarkably like light passing through prison bars.

Stepping closer, I whispered, “Where are we?”

“Don’t!” The man clutched my cloak, and frost nipped my nose as he pushed me back through the veil. Jaws snapped in my face. I recoiled, yanking myself back to safety.

“Let go of me!” I chopped the man’s filthy arm.

The man collapsed and groaned. Struggling to breathe, he muttered, “It’s a ca…” A gob of drool hung from the side of his mouth.

Again, I helped the man up and wrapped his arm around my neck. After we’d passed through the veil, the man hadn’t shared my surprise in discovering the castle. He seemed both familiar with…and terrified of it.

“Do you live here?” I asked.

The man’s face scrunched like he’d smelled putrid meat, and whether he meant to or not, he gave a subtle nod.

The movement was enough to send him staggering, nearly yanking me sideways with him.

“Alright. Come on.” We shuffled along the cobbled path, stepping over blankets of roses and ducking beneath overgrown hedge arches.

We passed an untidy topiary, what long ago might have been a dragon.

Something caught the hood of my cloak; I yanked it free and looked around.

My gaze landed on the topiary dragon, at the bit of green fabric that remained in its curled claw.

Heart pounding, I didn’t turn my back on the topiary until we were well out of reach.

Hurrying down the remaining path, we passed a grand fountain.

Once, it seemed magnificent swans spewed water down the cascading stonework.

Now, only decaying leaves filled the fountain bed.

At the base of the castle, two grand staircases split left and right, like the wings of a phoenix.

Choosing the left staircase, I tried the first step—the stone crumbled beneath my boot.

Scrutinizing every stair, I led us up the precarious steps.

We hobbled forward, stopping at a set of monolithic doors.

There weren’t any doorknockers—or handles.

How do I open them?

Heaving the man up, I dragged my hand along the carving of a stag, its eyes wide and terrified.

Ever so slowly, the door swung in, and mildew wafted out.

I glanced back to the veil. Like tall trees, several thin wolves sat on the other side.

I peered into the dark foyer. The man groaned in protest. He tried to pull away, to stop me from entering, but his wound had weakened him terribly.

Dragging him along with me, I stepped inside the castle.

Whoosh!

A gust of air rushed through the foyer and torches flickered to life. The sparse light did little to dispel the gloom. At the far end, flames sputtered in a stone fireplace that was so vast, you could fit two carriages inside. Dust motes floated through the air—

“Achoo!” I sneezed into my elbow. We crept forward onto a luxurious but aged carpet. Fear shot through my boots, and I stumbled off the rug. The threads depicted a scene of a hunt, with hounds tearing frantic foxes apart.

Click.

On the second floor of the foyer, the shadows moved as a door swung open with a gentle creak.

The sound was a fist, clenching my already tense stomach.

Avoiding the rug, I dragged the man up one of the two imposing staircases.

Paintings and tapestries littered the stone wall beside us.

Grey in hue, the paintings featured a faceless woman in a white gown.

In all depictions, hounds snarled through the frames.

A sudden whisper startled me.

I whipped around, nearly knocking the man over the banister. Though there was no one behind me, I noticed a change in the paintings.

The hounds were gone.

And each depiction of the woman stared after us, as if reminding me that, though faceless, she could still see me.

I faltered on the steps, my body beseeching me to drop the stranger and run. Down below, the strip of light along the doors called me to freedom.

In my arms, the man groaned.

I couldn’t leave him.

This was my fault. If I fled now, he’d die a slow, excruciating death. For a fractured moment, I saw my father on the sofa—face twisted in agony. Near the end, the only thing that kept him from begging for death was Lottie and Lysander, crouched at his feet, watching.

My grip on the man tightened.

I had to help him. Only then would I flee.

I heaved the man up the remaining steps and veered left.

The open door led to a bedroom, with a red velvet four poster bed.

At the end of the bed, a fire burned in the crumbling hearth.

I hauled the man to the bed and tossed him down.

His eyelids fluttered, and he mumbled. I leaned in, trying to hear him.

“It’s a cage!” the man bellowed, seizing my shoulders.